Our Hotel Is Open for Business as Usual - Chapter 26

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 26.

“…He went to Seoul….”

A person trapped on the 23rd Floor of this Hotel going to Seoul? It made no sense whatsoever.

“Is this some trick of yours?”
“What do you mean?”
“Perhaps this might be for the better.”

The Hotel’s core resource—”nightmares”—is quite literally nightmares. The term encompasses all negative residue: memories, emotions, and circumstances that guests experienced within this Facility.

In other words, when a guest pays with “nightmares,” they forget that particular nightmare. Just as money vanishes from a bank account when spent.

This was an explicit setting within the game.

‘I anticipated he would forget, certainly, but I never imagined the system would fill those memory gaps so conveniently.’

It was somewhat surprising. Not all of Hong Kyung-yeon’s time here had been a nightmare. He had forgotten only the part where Director Lee Sun-hae disappeared.

“….”

I gazed down at the gear resting in my palm.

Its surface rippled like water scales,

‘…the Sea….’

Or perhaps the texture of a lake.

“…If I study this properly, I might be able to procure as many ‘nightmares’ as I need.”
“Yes!”
“I see.”

I couldn’t entrust everything solely to the Hotel’s judgment. The risk was far too great. If the system ever classified an entire human life as a “nightmare,” it would destroy a person completely.

‘But that’s a matter for later. Right now, there’s something more pressing.’

They say it isn’t over until it’s truly over.

“You’re really wearing me out.”
“Wearing you out?”
“Yes, you wicked Cat.”
“No!”
“Anyone can say ‘no,’ you know.”
“Yes!”
“Good heavens, I never expected such honesty.”

I slipped the gear into my pocket. During this tutorial phase, it was a high-purity nightmare with no practical application.

“….”

Lee Yeon-woo stood before the Elevator.

The efficient Elevator opened its doors promptly. Lee Yeon-woo pressed the button for the 23rd Floor.

“….”

It didn’t register.

“….”

It didn’t register.

“….”
“….”

This time, it didn’t register either.

“Hah….”

Against those odds, I’d drawn a blank.

“I must be losing my mind.”

The tutorial remains incomplete.

“Still, it wasn’t entirely without merit.”

So let me hold onto a sliver of hope.

“This game is riddled with bugs, especially in the early tutorial phases. Since an event has coincided with this, we might exploit a bug to access the administrative route and resolve matters on the 23rd Floor.”
“No….”
“I won’t hear that opinion. The point is, if fortune favors us, we might be able to exploit this bug on the 23rd Floor. Of course, that’s only if we arrive there in time….”
“No.”
“Today’s luck is truly abysmal. Failing to fall within an 80% probability—is this the Water Ghost’s curse? The future looks decidedly bleak.”
“Yes.”
“Wretched cat.”
“No.”

* * *

I wish it would give up here.

But it refused to accept the Human Guest’s death.

“There is still a way.”
“….”
“Let’s be foolish one more time.”
“No….”

Coco curled itself into a ball atop Lee Yeon-woo’s shoulder.

* * *

Why do I resurrect?

A scholar ought to harbor doubt at such a juncture.

‘Because I shattered the absolute axiom that death is equal for all.’

Merely because it’s a game? Or because this world is half-reality?

Such vague hypotheses are unnecessary. What matters is the precise mechanism through which the phenomenon manifests. Lee Yeon-woo had long conducted relentless experiments to grasp its underlying foundation.

My objective is singular: to obtain the ‘Emergency Restoration Protocol.’ To conduct a precise analysis of this resurrection system and seize its core circuitry. In simpler terms, I desired control according to my own will—not regeneration bound to the system’s dictates.

‘Why do I come back to life?’

The answer is simple: because I was designed that way.

When specific conditions are met, functions activate according to logic. This resurrection is not a matter of survival instinct but the product of a meticulously crafted algorithm. I sought to uncover its operational mechanism.

“Tch.”

Lee Yeon-woo grasped the handle of the Emergency Stairwell door, but as expected, it didn’t budge an inch.

“How stingy.”
“Yes.”
“As I anticipated, using the stairs won’t be possible.”
“Yes.”

The Cat appears delighted. A pathetic psychological game.

Lee Yeon-woo already knew the answer. These seemingly futile attempts I was making now were merely verification stages—a process to transform hypothesis into certainty.

I continued my reasoning.

‘Who is the entity that determines I must live?’

That determination is not made by Lee Yeon-woo’s brain or heart. It is decided elsewhere—in the blood. My blood carries the accumulated emotions, memories, form, and purpose of ‘Lee Yeon-woo’ as data.

‘Who defines my death?’

Death is not an event defined by an external observer. It is understood as a specific state judged from within the blood itself. Do you comprehend what that signifies?

Even if the heart stops and brain waves cease, the moment the blood reads ‘it is not over,’ survival continues. In other words, as long as blood remains, Lee Yeon-woo cannot die.

‘Whose command is restoration, and through what mechanism does it operate?’

This is a command system inscribed in blood and the Hotel—or perhaps in something unknowable. Whether it is an imprint bestowed by the system’s designer or a function born from the game environment itself remains unclear.

But now that analysis is complete, there remains only one path forward for a researcher.

Use it,
and apply it.

“….”

Lee Yeon-woo boarded the Elevator again. In one hand, he clutched a chair he’d brought from the Lobby.

His gaze swept across the Elevator ceiling and came to an abrupt halt.

“…As expected, I knew it would be here.”

Perhaps it was thanks to the design that faithfully reflected reality. A maintenance access panel caught his eye. Without hesitation, Lee Yeon-woo forced it open.

A dark passage revealed itself. Or rather, it barely revealed anything at all. Only the faint light streaming from the Elevator’s small opening illuminated that long, towering corridor.

“No. No. No….”
“….”
“No!”

Lee Yeon-woo extended his hand. He tested his footing. It had been ages since he’d removed the white cotton gloves. He’d already shed the uncomfortable formal jacket. Right now, only one thing mattered to him.

Could I actually climb up through here?

‘During the tutorial phase, there are restrictions on the use of stairs and elevators.’

If this world was a game, then ultimately I could only move within the spaces defined by the system. In other words, now I had to exploit the blind spots the system hadn’t accounted for—the ‘gaps that were never depicted.’

‘Like this passage beyond the ceiling.’

The problem was my physical condition.

“…One mistake and I might die….”

If my body were in perfect condition, I’d attempt to cling and climb no matter what. But with my current physical state, it was too risky. If there were no consequences, I’d trust the resurrection mechanism and repeat reckless attempts, but….

My thoughts hadn’t even finished forming.

“…!”

―Crash!!!

“―Ugh, argh…!!!”
“No.”
“…Hah….”

Ah.

‘Ah, seriously.’

It hurts.

‘I’m going to kill someone.’

My spine screams in agony. The back of my head rings as though it might shatter, and each joint in my body writhes with such searing pain that even drawing a single breath feels impossible. This was the result of attempting to hang on with pathetic grip strength before plummeting.

‘I never imagined that simply falling backward would leave me in such a state… I’m a complete wreck.’

Yes, where else would this water-soaked body go?

“No.”
“…Huff….”
“No.”
“Come out for a moment.”
“Yes.”
“You listen well.”

Assessing my condition, I found my ligaments swollen. This wasn’t a “formal injury” as defined within the game’s rules, so the pain was genuine. It was raw, unfiltered agony—unprotected by the system.

My synapses burn white-hot because of it. This sensation of my brain being torn apart…

“How absurd.”

Yet I don’t die from it.

‘Because this isn’t death as defined within the game’s rules.’

As long as Lee Yeon-woo exists as the Hotel General Manager, I won’t die in this tattered state. It was exactly as the hypothesis I’d wrung from my mind throughout those sleepless dawn hours.

“Ha, haha…!”

I truly seemed to have lost my mind.

‘This is allowed, but that isn’t!’

The boundary between reality and game that this Hotel had established was dreadfully selfish and narrow-minded. It was as if the Hotel couldn’t bear not binding me, Lee Yeon-woo, as the Hotel General Manager!

“So, this isn’t allowed either.”
“Yes. Yes. Yes.”
“But that doesn’t mean I have no methods.”
“No. Method, no….”

I brushed aside Coco’s objections without hesitation.

I could not tolerate people dying within the space I managed. Especially not when I had exchanged business cards with that guest in a respectful manner—there was no way I could let them perish.

“Truth be told, I didn’t want to resort to this method, but… I have no choice.”

Unfortunately, a ‘foolish move’ still remained in my arsenal.

“I’m heading to the Lodging.”

Truly, the most foolish method of all.

* * *

There exists something called botulinum toxin. In more familiar terms, Botox.

“A rather familiar term, is it not?”
“Yes.”
“Originally, this was a treatment for facial muscle spasms. But side effects were discovered. The cosmetic effect of wrinkle reduction emerged. As a result, it is now widely used in wrinkle removal and cosmetic procedures.”
“No. No. No….”
“Do you know of minoxidil? It’s also called Rogaine. Originally intended as a treatment for hypertension, but a side effect of increased body hair was discovered. As a result, it was repurposed as a hair loss treatment and became a hit.”
“No, no. No. Side effects. No.”
“What is there that I cannot do? Blood magic—what difference does it make?”

The countless resurrections I have experienced are not miracles. They are reproducible restoration algorithms.

“This is ultimately a discipline and a science.”

I conducted numerous experiments.

I incised the left forearm to examine the median nerve and observed the blood’s response. I pierced the right femur to analyze the blood’s coagulation tendencies.

I incised the lower rib cage to attempt direct stimulation of the liver’s capsule. I induced finger joint separation and reattachment. I approached the threshold of nerve damage. 280 milliliters of hemorrhage. No restoration. No response. I recorded defensive reactions in the blood after inducing intra-abdominal bleeding.

The restored bone tissue did not align with normal joint structure. To eliminate additional variables and external factors, I restricted the use of analgesics and anesthetics. I focused on maintaining consciousness to observe sensory responses and the blood’s autonomous reactions.

I recorded pulse rate, blood pressure, and pain response during hemorrhage—successful. Yet I could not produce meaningful results. I subsequently conducted 81 deep-level experiments. But nothing changed.

It was because I could not make contact with all structures of the blood. An error born from ignorance. Misfire. Failure.

“It was no coincidence that this Hotel contained texts on blood magic.”

This body and this Hotel are deeply connected. It was created through this. At minimum, there is a relationship. Or it can be interpreted through this. Lee Yeon-woo is human, data, and a mass of blood.

The fundamental mechanism I grasped is simple. Conditions are detected. Resources are summoned. Morphic memory is invoked. Self and will attempt connection. The body is reconstructed….

“But it’s difficult to utilize this. I am a subject upon whom the imprint was applied, not the one who carved it. I’m in a state of utter ignorance, so naturally I cannot wield it either.”
“No….”
“If you wished to stop me, you should have acted before the situation deteriorated to this extent. I am simply doing what I must do now, and I am merely insisting on my own methods regarding what I must take responsibility for.”

And I added:

“I only hope that you, Coco, might also become a soul mature enough to match that measure.”

Blood contains five things. Life, memory, emotion, will, and soul. The closer to the soul, the deeper the knowledge. I grasped it arbitrarily but did not understand it.

‘If only I had more time.’

With just more time, it would have been entirely possible. Even at the latest, fourteen months would have been ample to analyze down to the realm of the soul.

‘But now I don’t have that luxury.’

I must accomplish it here and now.

Lee Yeon-woo wiped across the crushed eye socket opposite with bloodshot eyes. An injury sustained from the fall in the Elevator. Even the briefest contact left sticky bloodstains smeared across my palm.

‘At this point, I no longer need experimental specimens.’

Blood magic was a convenient discipline—with blood alone, one could manifest nearly any phenomenon. Lee Yeon-woo, a researcher down to his very bones, found himself thinking precisely this even in such dire circumstances.

―Truly, an exceptional return on investment, wouldn’t you say?

“No.”
“Good.”

Lee Yeon-woo laughed. It was absurd. It was almost exhilarating.

He was now forcibly reaching toward knowledge.

“Let’s see….”

Blood-stained fingers moved with unhurried grace, tracing the magic circle he remembered.

“…let’s destroy it, forbidden ritual.”

There’s a sacrificial offering right here, after all.

Isn’t there?

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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